


Icarus

by Sockaholic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Desperation, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Omorashi, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:57:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sockaholic/pseuds/Sockaholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because, while they are not outright prisoners, it doesn’t mean they have any power here either. The men want Pietro to know it. They want him to pay the price for being difficult, for mouthing off.</p>
<p>She thinks her brother is aware of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Icarus

It isn’t until Pietro begins to pace that Wanda notes the absence of their usual company.

The lab is rarely full, but it is never deserted. There is always someone, even if it is only a guard or two to watch her and her brother, on hand day or night in case something goes wrong. Now, there is no one.

“What did you say to them?” she asks.

Pietro casts a look at her. Quick turn over his shoulder, a frown creasing the corners of his mouth. “It doesn’t matter.” He cuts himself off, though Wanda knows he wants to say more, unwilling to admit to her that he needs to relieve himself.

It doesn’t matter; they both know.

There is something endearing - no, not endearing - something _intriguing_ about his pride, that prickly feeling rolling off of him in waves. Wanda is used to Pietro being headstrong and feigning impassibility, but this - this is new. It is a side to him she hasn’t felt since Stark’s bomb tore their lives apart, and never with such clarity.

It is with more than a little guilt that Wanda is eager for it to continue. Because, while they are not outright prisoners, it doesn’t mean they have any power here either. The men want Pietro to know it. They want him to pay the price for being difficult, for mouthing off.

She thinks her brother is aware of this.

He glances furtively towards the door, his mouth set in a tight line. His whole body is shaking - vibrating - with need.

Wanda mentally debates which would be kinder: telling Pietro that no one is coming to let him out of their observation room, or leaving him with the hope that they won’t force him to humiliate himself. Neither option is a good one.

Silently, she tries to catalogue his every motion - staccato footsteps to match his heartbeat, a tightness in every line of his body no matter how he moves.

“They can’t do this,” he pronounces, shifting yet again. “This is bullshit.” For all that he’s trying to put on a brave face, Wanda can hear the undercurrent of tension in his voice. Her Pietro, so prideful. He’s hurting in more than one way right now, and so she lets him have it.

He sits himself on the bench beside her, muscular thighs pressed tight together and still quaking, his back hunched. Pietro is perhaps more desperate than she’d realized, and it appeals to her in a way Wanda can’t quite explain.

There is something intimate, something forbidden, in watching him lose control.

His heart beats and his breath comes as if he’s close to orgasm, and Wanda wonders for a split second if he will make the same expression when he is forced to surrender to his growing need as the one he does when he cums. It feels wrong to imagine that - her brother shuddering with defeat as his body betrays him - worse to crave it, but it is what will happen.

Wanda lays a hand on his arm. He’s hot to the touch.

Pietro allows her a choked off groan before he ducks his head, burying his face in the crook of her arm. The way it angles his body might be intentional - Wanda nearly doesn’t see him press a hand to his crotch. “Shh,” she tries to soothe him, pushing the hair back from his forehead where it’s sticking to her arm.

That prickly sense of his pride is quickly succumbing to other things - the sickly color of fear, deep shading of shame. They aren’t yet so vibrant, but Wanda can feel them building in her brother’s mind.

She is at once ashamed of her own reaction, and eager to see it through. _Give this to me_ , Wanda wants to tell him, _I want to know all of you. Even this_.

He lurches to his feet before she can make the decision to reveal herself to him.

Pietro paces again - quicker, shorter steps this time - and he’s barely gone two feet before he sucks in a breath through his teeth, making no pretense of where he places his hands. He sinks to his knees, holding himself openly. Pietro’s eyes flick around the cell, anywhere but at her, and he keeps his head low.

“Pietro?” Wanda gets up and closes the distance between them again. She doesn’t want him to hurt, doesn’t want to see him alone in this.

He is mumbling something, almost too low, too fast for her to understand, but then she catches it - a desperate repetition of “I can’t, Wanda, I can’t,”

Her brother is afraid.

“It’s okay,” Wanda says, trying to smooth his hair back again, to do what little she can to provide him some comfort, but Pietro brushes her off. His whole body is trembling.

“Don’t look,” he implores her - the first time in their life Wanda has ever heard him beg for anything. “Wanda, please.”

She wants to sink to her knees in front of him and grasp his hands in hers, show her prideful brother that he has nothing to be ashamed of, but she takes a step back. “Like this?” she teases instead, holding her hands up to cover her face like she would if they were still children. _If I can’t see it, it doesn’t exist_ \- and as the thought occurs to her, Wanda realizes that she has the power to make it so, but she doesn’t quite want to.

It is dangerous, she rationalizes, that power untested.

Pietro barks a rough laugh before Wanda hears him suck in another quick breath, and she spreads her fingers to see a small dark patch on the leg of her brother’s pants. It is barely anything, yet.

Still his body curls in on itself and his breathing is ragged. Pietro grasps himself so tightly that his knuckles are pale, but it is of no use to him. Wanda watches, fascinated, as the deep grey spreads further. And then she can feel her brother’s relief mingling with his shame, piss cascading through the fabric and soaking his lap, spreading beneath his knees in a growing puddle.

It goes on for what feels like much too long a time, until Wanda is left wondering how Pietro managed to hold on for as long as he did, and then she can feel the slack in his body where tension has ebbed away and left him utterly boneless. For a moment, she cannot feel his shame - feel anything but the relief, the soothing absence, that “little death” so like when he comes.

And then at last it is over.

Pietro doesn’t look up, but Wanda doesn’t need to read his face to know how ashamed her brother is. She can feel it rising in him, blurring her brother’s consciousness from her in a shroud of underserved shame.

Wanda steps forward, not heeding the mess, or the weak noise of protest Pietro makes in response, and she bends to kiss the top of his head. “Do you feel better?”

She stretches out a hand to help him to his feet. He doesn’t need her assistance, but the unspoken reassurance, that, he does.

“It was cruel of them,” Wanda says. “Perhaps we shall have our own revenge. But my brother?” He looks up at her finally, fingers curling tightly around hers. His eyes are dry, but red, as if Pietro was so very near tears. “I love you always the same.”


End file.
